White Hart (7 page)

With a blink I come to life, my cheeks burning with shame for being caught staring. Silently, I pull the bedrolls from our packs, and place them on the ground.

“Father took me hunting once a month,” Casimir explains. “We have servants, yes, but that doesn’t mean I don’t learn myself. I can catch and skin a rabbit, too.” His voice softens. “Finan taught me.”

“You were close to your bodyguards?”

“Of course,” he answers. “They were like brothers to me.” He turns away and busies himself with the fire, angling his face so I cannot see it.

It occurs to me that, in those moments when I found Father, I treated Casimir badly, suggesting that his grief for his two employees and his bride-to-be was somehow not as worthy as my own grief. My cheeks burn again. “I’m sorry.”

His head bows in a nod.

The two of us work separately and yet somehow together to get the camp set up. Soon we’re sitting in front of a warm fire, heating up a batch of cooled stew from Halts-Walden.

“Does it feel weird?” Casimir asks. He sips his stew, which seems like a good way to let your food go cold, if you ask me.

“Does what feel weird?” I answer, still chewing on a piece of meat.

Casimir grimaces at me. “Your manners are appalling. Does it feel weird to be sat eating with the Prince of Aegunlund?”

I think for a moment. “Why should I care who you are? You’re helping me get to the Wanderers and I’m glad for it, but if you’re asking if I think you’re somehow better than me because of who your dad is, well, the answer is no.”

He stirs his stew, and at the same time a small smile forms on his lips, as though he knew I’d say that. “What do you care about, Mae?”

I realise then that he’s attempting to get to know me. He wants me to tell him all about my life and the things I love. Well, I won’t take the bait. “I care about the flowers in summer and the way the dew settles on the grass in the morning,” I say in a wistful voice with my head tilted to one side, staring up at the sky above, “and the way the blackbird sings at dawn with its chirripy song.
Chirrip-cheep-cheep-chirrip-chirrip-chirrip
—”

“That’s enough. I can tell you’re mocking me,” Casimir says. He rams a stick into the dirt. “I just wanted to get to know you, that’s all. No need to be like that.”

I wipe my palms against the knees of my trousers and look away, not wanting to see the water in Casimir’s eyes. “I’m sorry,” I mumble. At the back of my mind, I think of the way father chastised me just minutes before he died. My body goes cold.
Here I am, acting the fool again. Embarrassing myself.

We finish our food in silence before passing a canteen of water between us. Casimir leans back against a log and draws in the dirt with his stick.

“I don’t know what I’m going to do,” I say.

Casimir turns to face me. “What do you mean?”

“I don’t know what I’m going to do when I’m face-to-face with Father’s murderers. In my mind, I find the camp and fight them all, slitting their throats while watching the blood run from their bodies. But in my head, they have no faces. They are blurs of people—blanks. I don’t know what I’ll do when I see them in the flesh. Can I look a man in the eye and take his life? I don’t know.” The words are a burden lifted from my shoulders.

“We’re only part way into our journey,” Casimir says. “You have plenty of time to meditate on the subject, decide on what to do.”

“It’s about revenge, it has to be,” I say, my voice rising. “I want them to pay for what they did to Father.”

“Revenge isn’t always about death,” replies Casimir. “It can be taken in other forms.”

I meet his eyes. “What do you mean?”

“Well, when Father is angry with one of his subjects, he doesn’t kill them, he locks them in a cell or he banishes them from Cyne. He doesn’t kill many people at all, really, only the murderers.”

“They are murderers,” I say, my voice sounding cold and dark even to my ears. “Maybe they deserve to die, and it should be at my hand.”

“Father was betrayed by one of his friends once,” Casimir says. “He had an important law to pass in the realm, and the lord was supposed to vote in favour of my father. At the last minute, the lord changed his vote against my father.”

“What did the king do?” I ask.

“He arranged a marriage between the lord’s daughter and, well, let’s just say someone very undesirable to almost any woman, a man completely beneath her station.”

“That’s cruel,” I reply. “It punishes the girl as much as the father.”

“It punished the entire family. They became the laughing stock of Cyne and...” he trails of. “I don’t want to tell you the rest.”

“Tell me,” I say, now far too intrigued by the story to let him stop.

Casimir doesn’t look at me. “The girl took her life.”

I turn my head away from him. I’m sickened to the stomach.

“I told you he was ruthless,” Casimir says.

“It would have been kinder to kill the lord.” I think of the poor girl, forced into marriage with a man so disgusting she would rather die. This is why I hide my craft-born skills. I will never, ever let that happen to me.

The wind picks up in the highest branches of the tree, whispering through the dark. I feel the cold touch of its fingers on my neck, and a surprising gust of wind blows out the flames of the fire, leaving little more than embers to light the dark. Gwen whinnies, snorts, and I hear the sound of her hooves as she backs up.

“Do you see that?” Casimir asks.

I follow the direction of his gaze. A thick fog travels towards us. There is something unnatural about it that makes my heart skip a beat. The temperature drops dramatically, my muscles tense, and something tells me we have to get away from it. Fast.

A
nta lets out a low, rolling groan, like a cry of pain or a shout of forewarning. Casimir leaps to his feet and removes his sword from the sheath at his hip with a metallic
zing
.

“You can’t fight fog with a sword. Can you?” I say. Even as I say the words I doubt them. This fog is somehow different to what I have seen before. It moves as though aware of its path. There is something preternatural about it that makes the hair on my neck stand on end.

“Have you got a better idea?” Casimir replies with a shrug. His eyes bulge out in terror.

I glance behind me, wondering if we can outrun the fog, but when I turn back, it has almost descended on us. With my heart in my mouth, I move closer to Casimir and remove the dagger from my belt. It has to be better than nothing. Gwen backs away, tossing her mane, churning the forest floor with her hooves.

“Maybe we should go back.” Casimir’s voice trembles as he talks.

“There’s no time.”

The fog slows down when it is just a foot away. Then it creeps forward, almost languishing on its journey towards us, inching closer like a dare.
Challenge me
. It seems to say.
I’m here. Come to me.

Casimir strikes with his sword, slicing through the fog. He moves in agile arcs, controlling his weapon with both hands. A high-pitched squealing sound comes from the fog. It crackles like a burning fire. I join in with the prince, swinging my dagger in jerkier, more frantic movements than him. For a brief moment it seems to work, but then the fog darts forward to coat our skin.

The chill begins in my fingertips and works its way up my arms, making every part of my body feel heavier. Casimir exhales in rasps. My boots are touched by the slow spread of the fog as it swirls up around my legs like smoke, making me feel as though I’m rooted to the floor.

“What is it doing?” Casimir whispers. “Can you move?”

For some reason I don’t feel like I want to move. It’s not that I can’t move—it’s that I have no desire whatsoever to move at all. I shake my head.

“Me neither,” Casimir says dreamily. He sways from side to side. Watching him makes my eyelids feel heavy. Maybe I can have a rest... One little sleep... If I close my eyes...

Anta snorts and rears up, kicking out his front legs. Gwen neighs, and it echoes through the trees like a pealing bell.

“What’s wrong with them?” Casimir’s voice sounds far away. When I look at him, he is almost completely covered in the fog.

“I don’t know. Maybe...” The words are difficult to form. My mouth doesn’t want to work anymore; it wants to be still. My body
longs
to be still. “Maybe they don’t want us to go to sleep.”

“Why not?” Casimir says. “It would feel so good...”

“So good...” My eyes begin to close. The cold worms its way around my arms and legs the way that a poison seeps through blood.

Anta paws the ground with his hooves, snorting steamy breath into the cold air.

The fog cushions every part of my body, and I long to lean into it. I long to fall back into the fog like a soft, feather pillow. An old memory of my father pops into my head: the day I was sick and I had the flu, he lifted my head towards the spoon so I could eat my soup. That’s how the fog feels—it is a parent embracing my head, so I don’t have to do the work anymore.

But that isn’t right. I don’t have parents, and I don’t have anyone to lean back onto—certainly not a freezing cold fog, the tendrils of which are beginning to tickle at my nose. I move my head from left to right. Everything is so much slower than before. My neck... It’s as though it’s made of ice. My eyelids are stuck, with the lashes fusing together. My lips are the same—sewn shut by some mysterious force.

The most sound I can make is a muted humming in my throat. My fingers are stiff around the hilt of my dagger, and despite moving my eyes as much as I can, I can’t prise them open. It’s pointless. I’ve failed already by letting my father’s memory down. Norton was right; we never should have come to the Waerg Woods. I think of the prince frozen next to me and think of what I’ve robbed from the realm. I’m nothing but a selfish girl for letting him come with me. I lean into the fog, ready to let it take me.

Just as I find my body shutting down from the cold, a warm tongue licks the back of my neck.
Anta.
He hasn’t given up on me yet. The sensation ignites a fire inside me. That fire spreads through my muscles, awakening them, and suddenly I have the ability to fight again.

It begins with my eyes. I flutter my eyelids, concentrating on my need to see the forest again. When they are open, I realise that the fog has almost completely surrounded us. Prince Casimir is covered with a shimmering blue frost from head to toe.

“Mm... mmm... mmoo... C... as-im-ir,” I say, forcing my lips apart. The sound begins in my throat but I push it out, finally finding my voice. “Casimir! F-f-fight it!” Beneath his lids I make out a slight movement. He’s conscious—that’s a start.

After my eyes and mouth are free, I concentrate on moving my fingers. But I need Casimir to stay with me, so I find myself chattering to him, saying anything and everything I can think of.

“The fog is trying to freeze you. It’s trying to stop your muscles from working. Keep moving. Keep trying to move. Think about how much you want to move. Work on your eyes first, Casimir. You can do it. Don’t give up. Don’t let the cold take you.”

My fingers flex against my dagger. It’s small, but it’s a start, and I strain to move my forearm. If I can move that arm I can stab the fog. Something about the incisions from my dagger makes the fog retract. Perhaps it is a living organism, even though it looks like nothing of the sort. Either way, our only hope is to try and fight back.

“Casimir, I can move my arm again. I think I can attack the fog. Keep trying to open your eyes. I... I can push my arm forwards. Maybe I can stop it.”

My eyes stay focussed on the prince. I can’t let him give up and be taken by the fog. Anta moves towards Casimir and rests his muzzle against the boy’s neck.

“Anta is helping you,” I say. “Let the warmth of his breath awaken your muscles again.”

With Anta helping the prince I can concentrate on getting the fog away from us. My arm moves—albeit slowly—meaning I can make thrusting motions with my dagger. I continue doing that, not really knowing if it can cause any damage to the strange, smoke-like vapour. The fact that it felt solid gives me hope. There must be something I can attack. Something that will make it retreat.

My arms are an ice I’m afraid to snap, but I try to ignore it and slash at the fog. Anta moves away from the prince and shoots forward with his antlers low, butting against the fog, driving it back. Gradually my shoulders loosen, and I can lean forward, jabbing out my arm, slashing at the dark vapour. I find purchase against the tendrils, and when I pull my knife back, I see a splash of shimmering blue along the blade. It has a life force. The fog has blood, and that means we can hurt it. The crackles and squeals turn my stomach, but I slash forward, ignoring them.

“I’m fighting it, Casimir, I’m really fighting it,” I say. The prince forces his eyes open. Those pale grey eyes are a welcome sight. “We’re going to live!”

I keep working my dagger at the vapours until the tendrils fade away from my body, beginning with my face and neck, until there is little more than a puddle at my feet. Casimir forces his lips open and manages to turn his head to me.

“Y-you did it,” he says.

I nod. “I really did.”

The effort and the strain on my muscles cause me to collapse to the floor. I’ve never experienced anything like that before. It was bizarre and terrifying and exhilarating all at once.

Gwen nuzzles Casimir’s neck with her muzzle and the prince laughs. “It felt so good for a minute there.” His laughter stops and he sighs. As his body thaws the blue shimmer leaves his skin. “I... I almost gave up.”

A pregnant pause lies between us. If it hadn’t been for Anta, I may have given up as well. Have I lost the will to live? My fingers rise to the locket around my throat. The image of Father in the tavern comes flooding back, and it ignites some fire in my veins. I can never feel like that again. I will never let anything weaken me. My purpose is to find the Wanderers.

“We should build a fire,” Casimir says. “We need to warm up.”

I blink to remove the mist from my eyes. Of course, we need to heat our bodies, I had forgotten because of my anger. When my hand drops from the necklace I find Casimir observing me with an odd look on his face. His mouth opens, and I think he is about to say something, but then he thinks better of it and collects a handful of sticks from the forest path.